No. Not alone. Can’t be standing alone.
I spun quickly, about to pull out my last resort card and go hide in the bathroom for a few minutes, but the stupid delicious ale—and how much I’d had—hit me with a wave of wobbliness.
Cold hands gripped my arms to steady me. “Hey, Sage.”
I tensed, the pit of dread in my stomach opening up and swallowing me whole now that he was in front of me.
Was it possible for me to play dead? No—forget possible. On a scale of one to entirely inappropriate, how would it look to play dead in order to avoid speaking to my ex-cheating-boyfriend?
I swallowed over the lump in my throat.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
“Sean,” I clipped, my tongue revolting in my mouth.
His eyes looked over me like he still had a right to look—and like he hadn’t made sure I’d already caught him looking several times over the last half hour.
I thought I’d get here and he’d be the first thing I’d have to face. It only took five minutes and his sly smile for me to realize that he liked making me suffer—liked to watch the dread and anger build up at the thought of having to talk to him. And that he wanted to make sure I got his point that he’d get around to talking to me when it suited him.
Six years and his sense of superiority was just as strong as ever.
“You know, I couldn’t believe it when Mike told me who he was marrying.” He went on blithely while I scrambled for an excuse to walk away. “Here I thought I was going to be stuck back here for a few weeks with nothing to do, but now I’d love to think that we can… reconnect.”
Someone needed to reconnect this guy’s pea-sized brain back up to his body.
“I think my sister is calling me, so I should go—” I gasped when he stepped in front of me, cutting off my exit.
“Don’t be like that, muffin.”
My eyes went wide and I might have even bared my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”
He chuckled like he hadn’t used the nickname as a slur against my weight.
“You’re my muffin, Sage. A sweet, fluffy snack. A nice little treat to have on the side but not for the main course.”
Mortification burned through me as I easily relived one of the many painful memories that left scars on my self-esteem.
He regarded me lazily as though I were some kind of old toy he could come back to when he was bored.
“You never used to dress so… vibrantly.” He smirked.
My body, warmed from the alcohol, grew hotter as I glared at him.
I forced a tight smile. “What can I say? My tastes were pretty bad back then.”
Like you. My taste in you was pretty bad.
My teeth clamped into my tongue to hold back the words I hope he heard.
Sean dipped his head. “I think you tasted pretty damn good.” He winked at me and took a sip of his beer.
I gagged and shook my head, covering my mouth.
I needed to get out of here.
Whirling on my heel, the thick rubber sole caught on the edge of one of the pavers and, combined with my apple ale intoxication, there was hope for me.
My fall was just as vibrant as the rest of me. A horrible sound that I’d later realize was my own screech echoed over the patio like the second coming of the headless horseman.
My knees hit the ground first, ripping holes in my tights. The gravel tore into my palms. But it was the sting of embarrassment that hurt the most. Catching my breath, I stared at the ground between my hands, biting my lower lip as the pain rushed in.
Not from the fall. But from the feeling like I’d never recover from this—from all the insecurities Sean had branded into my too-impressionable teenage mind.
“Oh, Sage.” Sean’s low chuckle stung worse than my scrapes. “I’ll help you.”
I hated how he made it sound like he was the only one who could—like nobody else would be interested in doing anything for me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tensed, determined to shake him off.
But it was warm hands that found my shoulders not the cold cheater’s grip, and the scent of spiced apples and hops invaded deep into my lungs, pushing through the suffocating embarrassment.
“I’ve got her.”
I flung my eyes open, my gaze locking on the perfect blue eyes of the perfect and perfectly off-limits man I’d left at his brewery earlier.
“Voldemort to the rescue,” he murmured and winked, and in an instant, all the discomfort and pain I felt vanished at the army of butterflies that invaded my stomach.
He tightened his grip on my arms and lifted me like I weighed no more than a football he was about to fling down the field. And the whole time, I couldn’t take my gaze from his.
“And who are you?” Sean demanded from behind me.
I turned my head and looked at the man who hadn’t even begun to bend down to help me, let alone reach for me to try and stop my fall.
I opened my mouth to answer, but the rich, intoxicating voice of my brother’s best friend rang out loud and clear.
“I’m Sage’s boyfriend.”
My heart stopped. Not Luke. Not Callan’s friend. Not the guy whose ale was being served.
My. Boyfriend.
WHAT?
I reeled.
Did I hit my head on the fall?
Did he drink too much apple ale?
I blinked hard and cranked my head around to face the man still holding me—the man claiming to be my boyfriend.
Same brown boots that trekked bags of ice out to my car. Same worn jeans that fit the man in all the right ways. Same veiny biceps. Hauling around kegs of beer had clearly done this man too many favors. And the same tee pulled taut over his muscled abdomen—which was the only six-pack I was interested in.
To Sean and anyone else looking, he was the picture of composure. I was the only one who saw the twinkling tease in his eyes and the daring curve to his full lips.
“Wait, don’t I know—”
“No,” I blurted out, cutting off Sean though the word was solely in direct protest to Luke.
I was determined to fight this until my very last breath.
I could deal with the irritation and embarrassment and insecurities that Sean made me feel. But the way Luke made me feel…
The warmth of his gaze. The rapidity of my pulse. The tenderness of his hold. The tingling in my nipples. The hardness of his body. The heat between my thighs.
The way Luke made me feel scared me and infuriated me.
“We had a fight earlier,” Luke nonchalantly explained to Sean.
“What?” My jaw dropped. “No, we did not.” I looked at Sean like I cared what he thought. “We didn’t have a fight because he’s not my boyfriend.”
Luke chuckled. “I’m clearly still in the doghouse,” he said smoothly. “Come on, beautiful. Don’t punish me forever.”
I didn’t know what was more ridiculous: Luke fighting for this charade or my inner thighs growing sticky when he called me beautiful.
Or Sean looking between us in disbelief—like it was impossible for a man like Luke to be in the doghouse with a plump petunia like me.
“Oh, I’m going to punish you,” I said tightly, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt and turning to pull him toward the house.
“God, I love when you talk dirty to me,” Luke growled sexily behind me.
My shoes squeaked to a stop, and I spun.
“Are you kidding—” I broke off, stopped short by the hungry heat in Luke’s eyes. And, for a second, there was no trace of teasing in his expression—no trace of anything except pure masculine want.
For me.
And that was how I convinced myself I was seeing things. Because a second later, his tipped grin was back in place.
“Excuse us,” I clipped to Sean and then, returning my attention to Luke, hissed, “You’re ridiculous.”
I gave him my back, my hand still locked on his shirt to pull him in the direction of the house wh
en I heard him say, “Ridiculously addicted to you.”
I fumed.
The good news was I was too infuriated with Luke to be embarrassed by Sean.
The good news was also that Luke was the perfect man to play my fake boyfriend.
But the bad news… Oh, the bad news.
The bad news was Luke was the perfect playboy to make a gullible girl like me fall for her own fantasy.
Chapter Four
Luke
Damn, she was adorable when she was annoyed.
And damn if that little show hadn’t been a double-edged sword, giving me a taste of what I was missing—and what I couldn’t have.
This hadn’t been my plan.
My plan was to talk to her—to tell her I was serious about helping her, and that I would be happy to be her fake date. But when I came around the back of the house and saw the guy she was talking to, I remembered immediately who the ex she’d been desperate to avoid was.
Sean Anders had been on the football team—a wannabe quarterback who’d ended up spending as much time on the bench as he did boasting about his skills. And all it took was a split-second assessment to figure out exactly what kind of guy he was. Slick hair. Slick suit. Snide smile.
When I saw the way he looked at her—like she wasn’t good enough and should be grateful for any attention he showed her—that set me off.
Protective.
Possessive.
Twin turbos that drove me off the deep end into this situation and right to the brink of inappropriate.
Which was where I currently remained, watching the distinct sway of that perfectly full ass as I followed her angry stride into the house.
“You are in so much trouble,” she hissed back at me, smiling as we passed other guests so they wouldn’t have a clue that anything was amiss.
She had no fucking idea.
I’d always thought of myself as a smart guy. A ladies’ man. But not a dumbass.
I knew which ladies were off-limits, and once they were deemed off-limits, I never looked at them like they could be within bounds.
And I’d done the exact thing with Sage. And Rose, for that matter.
As soon as they were introduced as Callan’s sisters, that was it. Possible love interest was switched off.
And that switch had happily grown sooty and covered with cobwebs because I never revisited it.
Until Sage walked into my brewery—and I hadn’t realized it was her.
I saw the kind of woman who lived only in my dreams, and I wanted her. Wanted to do whatever it took to see her again—talk to her again. To make her smile.
And when I realized who she was… well, it was like seeing the arrow disguised in the FedEx logo.
I couldn’t unsee how gorgeous she was. I couldn’t unsee how damn bad I wanted her.
I couldn’t fucking unsee how she was my fantasy.
And there was no prayer, spell, or potent enough drug to turn her back into Callan’s unseeable little sister.
There was no flipping the switch back. No staying within the lines on this one.
The only thing to do was get her out of my system, and there was only one safe way to go about that. Because I certainly couldn’t have her for real.
She led us inside through the French doors, wove through the living room, dining room, into the kitchen, around the island, and finally into the laundry room tucked in the back.
Pulling me inside, she shut the door and immediately reached for the dryer, hitting a few buttons to start the tumble dry.
I was confused for a second until the dryer got going, and then I realized that no one would be able to hear us over the noise.
Clever.
“How many times have you done that before?” I asked, nodding to the machine.
She folded her arms, staring me down with red palms and yellow tights now ripped and dirty at the knees.
“Enough to know that for the next twenty minutes, no one will be able to hear your cries,” she replied smartly, and I wondered if her tongue tasted as deliciously tart as the way she scolded me. “So, you better have a darn good reason for what just happened out there because I did not ask nor want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
I tipped my hip against the washer, catching how she wasn’t able to stop her gaze from darting down to my waist before it popped back up again.
“No, you wanted Voldemort, and I figured he probably wasn’t going to show.”
“Luke, seriously.” She shifted her weight, the flower in her hair fluttering with her frustration. “It was a joke. A partially drunken joke. I don’t need you to pretend to be my… anything.”
I feigned a wince, but the prick in my chest was very real.
Sage sighed. “Is this really why you came? Because I made a joke?”
“I came because I was invited,” I corrected her. “I’m still Callan’s best friend—that’s not pretend.”
Her cheeks turned pink like ripe strawberries.
“But I also called Rose after you left, and she said I should definitely come.”
Sage groaned, her head dropping back and giving me a good look at the column of her neck. My dick hardened a very painful fraction more.
“I told her not to do that,” she muttered, and I could hear in her voice that she was really upset about it even though she was trying to hide it. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need to pretend anything in front of Sean... except maybe civility.”
I chuckled.
“I’m sorry she told you to come, Luke,” she refocused on me, looking ready to lay out a million and one reasons why I should drop the act.
My grin spread, and pushing off the washer, I stepped closer to her, watching her eyes flick over me as she tried to back away and maintain space between us.
“Really, I don’t need—” Sage sucked in a breath, her back bumping into the dryer
“You don’t need a man.” I held up my hands in defeat and finished her statement.
I didn’t know why she didn’t want to need a man, but I sure as hell knew it had something to do with her asshat ex.
She gulped. “I don’t need a date.”
“Then don’t think of me as a date. Think of me as an ally,” I suggested, inching closer to her and folding my arms across my chest. “Because you know that what just happened out there isn’t going to end today.”
She chewed on her lower lip. She plumped and sucked and rolled her lower lip to the point where putting my dick through the damn spin cycle would’ve been less painful than having to continue to watch her.
But I couldn’t stop.
My head dipped closer. “He knows me, Sage—knows my reputation from high school.” I paused and let the weight of that reputation sink in.
Sage let her lip pop free, her gaze rising to mine and burrowing deep.
But then she blinked and shook her head.
“No, it’s okay—it’ll be okay,” she insisted, making an attempt to scoot between me and the dryer and head for the door.
Most women would kill to stick it to their ex—especially when they were forced to walk down the aisle with them.
But not this woman.
“Dammit, Sage.” My arm shot out, barring her retreat. She faced me, the fire I’d provoked in her eyes flaring hot again, but I wouldn’t back down.
I kept my hand on the tumbling machine, tipping my body into her path.
“I won’t be okay.”
“What?” Her brow scrunched.
“Look, that shithead out there—” I broke off and vaguely pointed in the direction of the patio, warning with a roughened voice, “If I have to see him look at you like that again, I can’t promise I won’t take matters into my own hands.”
Those brightly colored lips of hers created a small ‘o.’
“So, either I let you be my fake date or you beat Sean to a pulp?”
Her throat bobbed as I crowded her against the dryer. Her eyes widened, her orange and yellow eye shadow a perfect match to the f
lower in her hair.
The old dryer bounced with its empty load, giving her ass a tap that jostled her into me. Full, soft curves brushed against me for a blink—a millisecond of fucking misery to be touched by temptation.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much where I’m at.” My voice was lusty as all hell.
It was like I’d been a fucking fire hydrant my entire goddamn life. Desire sealed up in a bright unwavering package until she needed me… and then the floodgates opened.
Sage wrenched herself against the dryer like it was a damn mechanical bull she refused to let go of. But even though she pulled away, I still caught her gaze as it dipped to my mouth when I spoke.
“And you really think I’m going to believe that this is for your ego and not mine?”
“Well, I’m standing here fighting to prove it to you,” I replied lightly.
“Ugh. Fine.” Her shoulders slumped for a second before she looked at me and charge. “Fake dates for the family events and the wedding, and then, we never speak of this—”
The dryer masked the jiggle of the doorknob, so there was nothing we could do about our positions when the door swung wide.
“Sage—” Callan stopped in his tracks, shock tearing across his face.
I dropped my arms and took a half step back, still feeling this insane need to stay close to Sage like I needed to defend her from anyone… including her brother.
“What the hell is—”
“Hey, Cal,” Sage squeaked, sidestepping out of my reach and striding to her brother. “So, here’s the deal, I asked Luke to be my fake date for the wedding because of the whole Sean situation, so it’d be great if you could find it in your heart to not be sour and ruin the whole charade.”
My oldest friend rocked back on his heels and blinked slowly.
“A charade? The two of you?” His head turned between Sage and me.
“Oh, definitely a charade,” she assured him, flipping her hair over her shoulder and meeting my gaze one last time. “Playboy hunks are definitely not my type.”
And with that parting blow from my dear, newly fake girlfriend, Sage pre-emptively thanked her brother for his cooperation in the ruse and sauntered out of the room to go find Rose.
“Worried there for a second?” I asked my friend once she was out of earshot.
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